


Take Me Higher

by AndreaLyn



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-26 11:08:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30105057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndreaLyn/pseuds/AndreaLyn
Summary: Nicolò has worshipped the Sun God for over a decade and finally he knows what he must offer Yusuf - his body, heart, and soul. First, he must ascend to meet him in the heavens to give his gifts.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 16
Kudos: 179





	Take Me Higher

**Author's Note:**

> My eternal and forever thanks to morallygreywaren for the beta and for helping to shape this up into something I could post instead of tool around with forever.
> 
> **TW: There is suicidal imagery** , though not intent in a later scene (marked by '...he builds no wings at all').

Years ago, when Nicolò had been no more than a brash teenager still learning the ways of the world, he’d first seen the God of the Sun in the fields near their village, passing out blessings in exchange for their offerings. At eighteen, Nicolò had been gangly and useless, but despite knowing that he could never measure up, he’d felt drawn toward the God.

He had nothing to offer and so he kept his distance, remaining a spectator to the God’s generosity with his people.

The next year, Nicolò is a little taller, slightly broader in the shoulders, and more confident in himself. He catches sight of the Sun God, who remains unchanged from the last time he’d seen him. He is radiantly handsome, beaming as he bears blessings upon their people. He’d only truly seen him a year ago, yet Nicolò knows that his life had changed that day. 

He hadn’t been complete until he’d seen Yusuf. 

So occupied in staring at him, Nicolò doesn’t realize where he’s walking until he collides with a cart, sending the produce in his arms flying. The sound he makes in his disastrous state earns several gazes, including Yusuf’s, but Nicolò is not suave or calm or collected. He doesn’t take the opportunity to wave at him or smile when given the opportunity.

No, instead, he reaches frantically for a cabbage and ducks down to hide himself behind the cart, clutching it tightly to his chest as though cradling a babe. 

The embarrassing moment passes without anyone coming to look for him. Why would they? Yusuf is the God of the Sun, he is busy. Too busy for Nicolò, certainly. 

Yusuf continues to come down to see the villagers multiple times a year, always near the fields that Nicolò works. He thinks he must be imagining it, but he thinks he can feel Yusuf’s eyes on him as he tends to the fields, tilling earth and turning over the soil. He never approaches Yusuf because he is an unworthy thing, sweating so hard that his shirt sticks to his skin, dirty with the soil and the labour. 

Yet, there are eyes on him, Nicolò knows it. Could they truly be Yusuf’s?

After his visits to the villages when Nicolò is so sure that he’s been stared at, the sun shines longer, brighter, and the crops yield plentiful harvests. The villagers are content for their good luck, and Nicolò feels lucky to have caught a glimpse of Yusuf, if only for a moment. 

The years pass, one by one, until Nicolò is thirty. 

He has become worldly in his knowledge, though he has never left the village. He tells Sébastien and Nile that he doesn’t leave because he couldn’t imagine life without them, but it’s not them he thinks of. It’s Yusuf, and the fleeting glimpses of him that Nicolò gets with each visit. Each time he sees him, it’s as if there’s something in his chest pulling at him, coaxing him to go towards him.

Nicolò is also beginning to think that Yusuf _sees_ him, perhaps even hears his prayers. When Nicolò prays for sun to help the crops so they can feed the children, the sun shines for days on end. When he prays for rain, hopes for a break, the sky dims and darkens. He prays that he will see Yusuf when he next comes and sure enough, each time he hears of Yusuf in their village, it is on the heels of such a prayer.

Each visit, each year, he catches Yusuf’s eye and wonders whether he is living a childish fantasy pretending that a God cares about him. 

Now, at thirty, Nicolò is too old to play games. He knows that he is not mistaken. Whenever Yusuf comes to grant blessings to the people, he stares at Nicolò, his gaze hot and hopeful. There is no mistaking that Yusuf has set his eyes upon him, but Nicolò does not go to him. 

Until he knows what he can offer to Yusuf, there’s no point. 

One day, he will think of what a God like Yusuf truly deserves and then, that day, he will go to him, speak to him. He will ask him if Nicolò was mad or if Yusuf had truly looked upon him for all those years. He would ask him what he wanted and what Nicolò could give to him. 

It’s on the eve of his thirty-first birthday, at the autumnal festival for the Sun God, when Nicolò suddenly knows exactly what it is he must offer him, but it is not one sole thing and certainly not a mortal gift. 

It cannot be flowers or a meal or a harvest dedicated to him. That is not what Yusuf deserves. Nicolò must offer _everything_.

At the festival, Yusuf is the central focus in a field of worshippers and the sun basks upon its God, setting him apart from the mortals. Nicolò had never attended one of his celebrations before, if only because he hadn’t been sure his jealous heart could withstand seeing Yusuf bless so many at once, give them his warmest smiles and bestow them his kindness. 

This is the first time this year that Yusuf has come down to see them, which means that if Nicolò wants to see him, it must be here. He has told himself that this time will be different than all the years before. He’d spent all morning collecting flowers until he had a radiant bouquet of brilliant yellow, orange, and red wildflowers. Nicolò clutches it tightly in his hands, eager to make his offering to Yusuf along with these flowers, mind twisting as he imagines what he might ask for in return.

_A kiss?_ he wonders. _More?_ How much could Nicolò demand of a God, when he is only a mortal?

Even here, at the festival, he is drowning amongst admirers. Nicolò is one of hundreds standing in the crowd with Sébastien and Nile at his sides, yearning to get a glimpse of one of their Gods. They came to Earth so rarely, but some visit more frequently than others to accept adulations. Andromache, Goddess of the hunt, had deigned to offer her presence last month, and Lykon, God of the earth, the month before. 

Now, here is Yusuf. He comes to visit the people of the ground more frequently, as if he loves them more than the others, or perhaps as if there is something that he longs to see with each visit. Nicolò ’s heart aches to think of that love and how desperately he wishes for even a moment of it, but Yusuf had been inundated with worshippers and had departed before he’d made it to Nicolò.

(He wonders if the disappointment he thought he’d seen on Yusuf’s face had been Yusuf’s or if Nicolò’s grief at missing his chance had manifested there in his memory)

He _knows_ it must only be his imagination, but the flowers in his hand seem to have wilted from their previous glory, even though it’s only been a matter of hours. He’s probably been holding them too tightly, his nerves doing a good job of wrecking this beautiful thing. 

“He didn’t even make it to us,” Sébastien reminds Nicolò, taking the bouquet of flowers from his hand. “Save these for a mortal, someone who can appreciate you.”

Nicolò would never take the time, the effort, and the devotion to make a gift for a God and then give it to a mortal.

No, he has a better plan and it involves more effort and devotion.

“I don’t like that look,” Nile says warily. “Nicolò …”

“It’s all right,” he assures. “I will come up with a way to reach the sun, to give Yusuf his offering.” It doesn’t matter if he sees Nicolò or not. What matters is that he worships Yusuf, in all his sun-kissed glory, the most radiant thing in the universe. 

He may not be able to bring him flowers, but Nicolò will build a contraption sturdy enough to lift him up to the heavens, where he may praise Yusuf for his glory and his beauty and kindness. He will give him the offering he intended to on the heels of the flowers, Nicolò’s _true_ offering of all that he is.

What better God could there be, than him, to give it to? 

Yusuf, who ensured that the crops of their village are bountiful and who turns the sun towards them as they need it, shielding them from overexposure that would steal a year’s crops from the hardworking people. It’s him that lets the sun radiantly shine against the lakes, dappling beautiful rays and serving to create perfect summer days for people to fall in love and spend time with their families. 

He is benevolent and kind, wise and thoughtful. 

He is the most handsome God in the pantheon, in Nicolò’s opinion, his skin kissed with the same warmth as his smile, such a smile that has Nicolò melting in its presence, even as one of a crowd. He offers blessings to the children and wealth to his worshippers in the form of the sun’s warmth upon their land, and in bright and beautiful days, and bountiful crops. 

Nicolò is in love and no one can tell him otherwise, even if he is a God and Nicolò is anything but. He deserves to be worshipped and Nicolò will seek him out where he lives. If his love is not returned, then at least Nicolò will have made his offering with all his heart and known that he did his best.

In order to worship a Sun God and gain a private audience, you must ascend to the heavens. 

Nicolò has just the thing for it.

* * *

First, he builds the wax wings.

“Nicolò, they’re going to melt,” warns Nile.

Not if Yusuf comes down to meet him, which he impresses upon his friends. They don’t believe him, but they let him continue with fear in their eyes and worry on their faces. Nicolò continues to build the wings, lined with wax and feathers and steel, determined to use them to reach the sky and his beautiful God. He takes the cumbersome things to the highest ridge that overlooks the village, sliding the harness upon his shoulders. Nile pleads with him not to do this, but Nicolò has faith in his designs. The wax is light, but the frame is firm. 

So long as he doesn’t fly _too close_ to the sun, he will survive (and yet, he knows that if he’s tempted while in the heavens, he will not be able to ignore the chance to find Yusuf). 

“I have faith,” Nicolò promises Nile, even if she doesn’t seem convinced. 

“Don’t you die,” is her warning. 

Upon the ridge, Nicolò studies the world below him and the one above. He knows the precise angle to take in order to create buoyancy. He knows the wind, the weight, the speed, he knows it all. He doesn’t know how freeing it will feel to be airborne until it is, feet off the ground, soaring in the sky with his wings.

What Nicolò doesn’t know is whether he’s going to find Yusuf up here. 

From here, the village below seems impossibly small. With every new flap of his constructed wings, Nicolò soars higher, ignoring his own warnings not to get too close to the sun, lest the wax of his wings melt. His stubborn heart insists the droplets of wax falling to the ground are a worthy sacrifice to meet his love.

Never mind that enough wax droplets will add up to his life, that logic and sense is not what Nicolò has in mind. He soars higher, seeking Yusuf in the heavens. 

Just as Nicolò is beginning to think this has all been for naught, he hears the voice of his beloved Sun God. 

“I don’t think anyone has ever come to find _me_ before.”

There he is, in all his godly glory. Nicolò fumbles with the harness’ levers, the left not working as quickly as the right. His entire body sags in that direction, struggling to catch himself, but he doesn’t have to worry. 

Yusuf is there, with his broad hands circling Nicolò’s waist to hold him up. “What’s your name?”

“Nicolò,” he replies, gaping at the sinew and muscle of Yusuf’s wings as they beat powerfully against the air. They are hawk-like in their gold and brown, their width greater than Nicolò ’s own (which have begun to drip and melt, the wax hurtling to the ground and proving Nile so very right).

He doesn’t ask if Yusuf has been looking at him all these years. It feels too dangerous of a question, because if the answer is ‘no’, Nicolò will be heartbroken. Still, there’s a heat in Yusuf’s gaze that feels familiar, one that Nicolò swears he’s seen before.

“Normally when I see you, it’s on the ground,” Yusuf murmurs. “Your name is Nicolò, yes?”

“It is.” So it is true. “You remember me?”

“How can I not?” Yusuf replies, his thumb brushing against the skin at Nicolò ’s waist, where the harness of the wings has caused his shirt to ride up. “You are one of the reasons I return to the Earth so frequently.” His voice is low, and it makes Nicolò light-headed. “I asked the villagers for a gift years ago, to know your name. It’s only a shame that gift hadn’t come from you, but better you be here now than never.”

Nicolò feels his head spinning, which he could blame on being so high above the ground, but Yusuf’s voice is certainly not helping. 

“This is a very dangerous thing, you know,” Yusuf says on the heels of Nicolò’s stammering and silence, his tone amused as if Nicolò risking his life like this is a fond quirk. 

Nicolò opens his mouth to tell him that it is worth it. He wants to tell him that he has come to give Yusuf his offerings and his devotion. _I am here to offer you my body, soul, and heart_ are the words he has rehearsed. 

None of those words come out. 

Yusuf’s earlier question ( _”How can I not?_ ”) had plucked the only words in his lungs from him, leaving him speechless and stammering as Yusuf set him gently upon the ground. There is no wax left, only the wiry frame that would have sent him plummeting downwards, if not for the God of the Sun. His wings flap once more before they vanish, with such ease and magic. 

“The sky is rarely full of such beautiful birds as it was today, Nicolò, but you were meant to stay on the ground,” Yusuf gently chides, even if the look on his face says he would much rather see Nicolò in the sky. “I would like to see you again,” he says, with a heavy sigh. “When it is only you and you don’t worry about sending cabbages sky-born.” 

He does remember him, then. He remembers him from all those years ago, and suddenly Nicolò knows he would do anything to chase those despondent sounds from Yusuf’s lips.

“Perhaps, I will think of something,” Yusuf says, “or maybe you will beat me to it.”

He already has the next idea on how to return himself to the heavens where he might profess his adoration for Yusuf. 

It’s with confidence that he promises, “I just might.”

* * *

Next, he builds the wings of metal. 

If he is to soar towards the heavens, he cannot use wax. It is too brittle, too changeable. With the warmth of the sun, it melts, and Nicolò requires something stronger to see Yusuf again. 

He _must_ see him again. Since Yusuf had dropped him back on the ground, Nicolò has done nothing but dream of him. The world is bright, the sky sunny, and the villagers speak of how pleased Yusuf must be to bequeath them such a wonderful day, but Nicolò knows it would be better if they could be together. 

These wings are heavy, weighing him down the moment he wears them. His muscles tremble with each flap as he strains to achieve flight, but soon he ascends. It’s a struggle and he will ache desperately, but he knows that it is worth it to see his love.

He finds him sooner than last time. “You’ve returned,” Yusuf greets him, when Nicolò shakily rises through a set of clouds to find Yusuf there, almost as if waiting. He fumbles again, as he did the first time, but it is not shock that does it.

It is the sheer weight of the wings, which have allowed him to soar higher, but at a new price. The heavy weight of the metal sags on Nicolò ’s shoulders and he suddenly feels as if he’ll be pulled down to the ground. The momentum pauses, he feels the wind stop, but Nicolò is suspended in the air. 

“What magic is this?” he breathes out in wonder, turning to find Yusuf has a grip on each of the wings, smiling at him with amusement. That smile turns mischievous as Yusuf adjusts his hold to press both hands around Nicolò’s waist, using his godly strength to keep them both afloat.

This close, he feels Yusuf’s breath prickling warm against his neck. The feel of his body is flush against his back.

“It’s not magic,” Yusuf’s voice rumbles, low in his ear. “It’s me. I’ve got you.” 

Nicolò closes his eyes, paying attention to the minute shifts of Yusuf’s hands, turning him until they’re facing one another. Yusuf’s wings beat hard against the sky, keeping them both afloat, but Nicolò cannot see them. 

The words he’d meant to say last time bubble on his lips and nearly evaporate, but his determination to speak wins out. “I’ve come to bring you an offering.”

“Oh?” 

Nicolò opens his eyes to see the fondness of Yusuf’s expression, which he’d _heard_ in his single word. He nods fervently, the metal wings beginning to slip down his arms. “I came to offer to you my soul, my heart, and my body,” he says, glad his words are so firm as he stares at Yusuf’s warm eyes, so beautiful and wondrous. 

Yusuf looks stunned, though pleased. Suddenly, in this moment, Nicolò realizes that Yusuf’s stare on the ground had only ever been pleasantly warm. Now, in this moment, he understands what it is to have Yusuf’s truly heated gaze fixed upon him.

It is as if the sun itself has turned on Nicolò, warming him inside and out. 

“That is a very heavy thing to offer to me,” Yusuf says finally. “Are you sure?”

Nicolò nods, understanding that he has never been more sure. “For thirteen years, I have never wanted to offer anything else. It only took until now to find my bravery, to understand how badly I wanted it.”

How badly he wants _him_.

Yusuf eyes Nicolò with consideration, slowly descending from the heavens. “If you mean it, if you truly wish to give me those things, then come and see me once more,” Yusuf says, “tomorrow.”

Nicolò sets his feet on steady ground, knowing instantly that he’ll do anything Yusuf asks of him. “Of course,” he says, but he’s not sure what sort of contraption he could build in one day. “How am I to see you if I can’t build anything by then?”

Yusuf steps back off the cliff, wings keeping him aloft. “You’ll think of something, Nicolò . Have faith,” he says, heavy emphasis on those words. 

If faith is what Yusuf wants Nicolò to have, then he has a very good idea of how to show that.

* * *

Finally, he builds no wings at all. 

It is a leap of faith Nicolò intends to take today, just as Yusuf has asked. 

“You’re mad,” Sébastien scoffs.

“Nico, don’t,” Nile warns, but the words are in vain.

Yusuf will not let him falter. Every time that Nicolò has built wings to meet him in the heavens, Yusuf has been there to greet him. He intends to see if Yusuf will meet him closer to Earth.

“I must,” he tells them, wishing they could understand. “Don’t you see? Yusuf is a _God_ and I have been trying to fly close to him, but that’s not what a God needs.”

“And what,” Sébastien says, his voice riddled with doubt and derision, “is it that a God needs?”

“Faith.”

They think him mad, but Nicolò will not be stopped today and they know better than to fight him. They embrace him tightly, as though this is the last time they will ever see him. Maybe, in the back of his mind, he feels some of that fear as well, but Nicolò tucks it away as he ventures to that cliff. 

There is only one thing to do. Without wings on his back, or a contraption slid around him, Nicolò inhales a deep breath as he closes his eyes. He stands on the edge of the craggy cliff begins, as pebbles are shaken by his feet, descending the chasm of distance between him and the ground. If he does fall from this height, he really will be dead, won’t he?

_Yusuf won’t let that happen, he won’t, he won’t…_

It’s Yusuf that he thinks of as he prepares to take a step off the cliff, his eyes shut tightly, and he waits to _fall_ , only, he doesn’t. 

He doesn’t fall because, there, again, is Yusuf. 

“Nicolò.” There is no warmth in his tone now. There is no brightness, no sun, no joy. There is only fear. “What were you _thinking_?”

“I was taking a leap of faith,” Nicolò says, as Yusuf’s fingers span Nicolò’s ribs, pressing in tightly to mark him through the linen of his shirt. “I have come to offer you my body, in worship. I have come to offer you my soul, in whatever words and song and verse you desire. I have come to offer you my heart, for you have captured it. It is yours, Yusuf, God of the Sun. It is yours to do whatever you like. I thought that this is what you wanted.”

“I thought you would bring back feathery wings. I thought you might invent something to catch the wind! I never thought…” He scoffs, shaking his head. “I did this, did I? Have faith,” he echoes, but his fear has turned to something joyous now. “My Nicolò,” he praises. “With such fine offerings, how am I to say no to you, even if what I should give you is a brain and not what the gift I had in mind.”

Nicolò stares at him with awe, with such joy as he’s never felt. “You intend to give me something? Does this mean you accept my offering?”

If Nicolò could see only one thing for the rest of his days, it would be this -- the warm way Yusuf smiles, overpowering and beautiful, as if Nicolò has suddenly been warmed from the inside. He could be blind, but for this one sight, and be happy. 

“Yes, Nicolò,” Yusuf agrees, holding him aloft. “I have a gift to bestow upon you, in thanks for your offering.” His touch is warm against Nicolò’s sides, but warmer than before, like Yusuf is imbuing him with something.

His love, his life, his promises, his offerings. Nicolò has his pick, but as he opens his eyes, there is one thing he wants more than the others, though Yusuf has yet to offer it to him. 

Yusuf is a God, one who might strike him down. Still, that doesn’t strike enough fear into Nicolò’s heart to stop him from cupping Yusuf’s neck with a palm and his hip with the other, kissing _his_ Sun God as his warmth suffuses his whole body. 

Something is changing. 

The world could be, for all Nicolò knows.

He is lost in this kiss. His world begins and ends with his lips on Yusuf’s, and whatever change is washing over the world can be dealt with later. Right now, in this moment, all that matters is how wonderfully warm he feels, at home in the sky and in Yusuf’s arms. He is where he’s supposed to be. 

He’s home.

* * *

His new wings are not built of any earthly materials.

“Nico,” Nile gasps, pulling him into a tight hug when he returns to them. His shirt is torn, he is barefoot, but he is serene in his joy. “I thought you were flinging yourself to your death, what were you _thinking_?” She embraces him in a crushing hug, equally meant to show her relief and punish him. 

Booker is giving him a wide berth in the wake of Nile’s impassioned greeting, eyeing him with far more suspicion. “Nicolò, your skin…”

They’ve noticed already, have they? 

“I presented my offerings to Yusuf,” Nicolò shares, his eyes alight, glad that neither of them bring up the fact that _he_ had been the only offering he’d brought to Yusuf. He squeezes Nile’s hand as he gives her a fond look, thinking of how much he will miss her. “He accepted them, and bequeathed me a gift in return.”

“What sort of gift?” asks Sébastien.

The room, suddenly, fills with warmth. It is night, but there is still a sudden lift in spirits and joy, as Yusuf arrives, his great wings folding behind him. “I gave to Nicolò all the things he offered to me. Heart, body, soul.”

“You are missing one thing,” Nicolò chides gently, stepping back as if summoned by Yusuf’s warm and powerful aura. “You gave me such a gift that could never be repaid, not even with an eternity of love.”

“I have been missing something for a very long time,” Yusuf confesses. “As long as I have been the God of the Sun, I have been missing my other half, my moon.” His eyes have yet to leave Nicolò, which he knows because Nicolò has not looked away from him in turn. “In Nicolò, I have found him.” 

Nile gapes at him, but it’s Sébastien who finds his way to words first. “A God,” he says, struck dumb. “You’ve made him a God.”

“The Gods can grant faithful mortals whatever gifts they so choose,” Yusuf says, beatific and beautiful as he looks upon Nicolò. “Nicolò presented his offering. In order to accept, I bestowed my gifts upon him.”

His friends gape at Nicolò, but he has eyes for no one but Yusuf. He knows that he will love him for more lifetimes than he can imagine, not because of the gifts he’s been given, but because of who Yusuf is. 

His benevolent, kind, handsome, _wonderful_ God of the Sun.

_His_.

There is no need to fear, now, because Nicolò will never fall out of the sky. Yusuf has made sure of that. He will feel lucky until his last day, whenever that is, because he has this. He has faith, and he has Yusuf. 

It’s a feeling as if his heart is soaring, loving him. No contraption, manmade or otherwise, is required to make it feel that way -- only Yusuf, always Yusuf.


End file.
